


Murder Is Easy

by Potoo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M, kinda modern AU-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 18:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3780505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potoo/pseuds/Potoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Theon is sent to kill Viserys, he is distracted. Again. And again. And again. Turns out being a cold-hearted harsh assassin isn't as easy as it always looked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murder Is Easy

Killing people has always been easy. Sure, sometimes the head doesn't come clean off or the poison doesn't work right away, but the human body seems to be naturally drawn to death. It's not hard to push it those few remaining inches and watch as life leaves the poor sod's body. Killing people really isn't difficult. The people who don't like your work, they're what makes killing someone difficult, Theon thinks, because they're alive. For some reason, they won't just forgive you if you murder their grandpa or their daughter. They'll hunt you down until you're faced with the decision to join the club of the recently deceased or to accelerate the happy family reunion in the afterlife. He understands. He'd be pretty pissed too if anyone dared to cut open Asha's throat or stabbed Robb in the heart.

 

But killing, killing has always come easily to him. Killing and drinking and laughing and fucking, he is an expert when it comes to those. He could probably write a book. _1,000 ways to have fun and also murder people_ , maybe. Though that title needs some work. He is better with a gun than with a pen; although neither of those is in his hands right now. Instead, a cigarette stump is held between long fingers, his nails chewed off for as long as he can remember. The cigarette's an expensive brand. Theon takes care to only buy expensive brands. Even the smoke smells expensive. He hopes the pristine white walls of the hotel suite will be a smidge less pristinely white when he's finished with his business here.

 

This will be the easiest kill he's done in a long while. The dumb fuck's still asleep, for the Drowned God's sake! Theon won't even need to take out his gun. There are thirty-seven different blunt objects that are perfectly appropriate for a murder in this part of the suite; twenty-three of them can be disposed of discreetly. What a dumb, dumb fucker, but then again, Theon can't fault him for succumbing to his charms. He's just too handsome.

His uncle will be pleased. The family expected Theon to be hunting for Viserys Targaryen for at least a whole month in this shithole the Pentoshi call a 'city'; but he's stumbled over him the second night he's here.

 

Admittedly, he didn't know it was Viserys Targaryen when he chatted the silver-haired guy up in that bar. Admittedly, he didn't know it was Viserys Targaryen when they spent the night in the very same bed Theon's smoking in right now. Admittedly, he didn't know it was Viserys Targaryen until he leafed through his one-night stand's phone contacts this morning. (You can take a Greyjoy out of Pyke, but you can't take Pyke out of a Greyjoy, or so Theon always tells himself, and stealing your hook-up's phone to do some well-meaning spying on him is just a very Pyke thing to do, right? Right?)

 

It's not really professional to be sleeping with your target, even Theon has to admit that, and he's done some questionable things in his career as an assassin. _Viserys Targaryen lives in Mopatis' mansion_ , he remembers Asha's worried words. _Silver hair. Purple eyes. We don't know anything else. Don't just kill some random Valyrian, yeah? Make sure it's him._ As if that bitch cared about the fate of random Valyrians who came in Theon's way, he thinks. 

Yesterday he slept with Viserys Targaryen and today he'll kill him. Perfectly clear.

 

Theon thinks he's deserved to finish his smoke first and does. Then, he takes a closer look at the blunt objects around him and settles for the heavy-looking lamp on the bedside table. He takes it in his hands and weighs it carefully.

 

“Wasgoinon,” asks a bleary voice. Theon feels as if he's been caught by his uncle sneaking cookies from the kitchen. (Or rather, the Greyjoy equivalent: sneaking cocaine from the kitchen.) Slowly, he lets the lamp sink and places it back on the table. Viserys looks at him from sleepy eyes; they're a dark blue, indigo, the white lashes barely visible.

 

“You snore,” Theon replies, the first thing that comes to mind, but sadly not something that explains the lamp that's just been in his hand. Viserys hasn't completely woken anyway and just now sits up, rubbing his eyes. He looks like an overgrown puppy. Theon wonders why his uncle needs him dead so much; this guy couldn't successfully hurt a fly, he bets.

 

“I do not,” Viserys replies, obviously offended. “You do.”

 

“Excuse you!!” Theon is also offended. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

 

Viserys yawns again. It's less sincere this time. Theon presses his lips together. “You know who I am, assfuck.”

 

Theon grabs hold of the lamp again. He realizes he's not wearing anything. If this is a trap, he's defenseless.

 

“The best lay you've ever had.” Viserys grin is positively smug. Theon just barely refrains from rolling his eyes.

 

“And an arrogant asshole on top,” he replies non-chalantly. Viserys' gaze darkens, then he smirks.

 

“Gimme a smoke,” he demands with all the natural conceit of a man who was once the boy who'd been promised the world. Theon rolls his eyes in earnest but turns to grab a cigarette; Viserys, however, seems to have had sinister plans from the very beginning. He wraps his arms around Theon's waist and wrestles him down until he's lying beneath him, then leans forward to whisper in his ear.

 

Theon isn't sure allowing Viserys to manhandle him like this is a good idea, but hey, the boy will be dead by the end of the day.

 

“I'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to move for a whole week,” Viserys murmurs and his breath tickles Theon's earlobe and silver-gold hair brushes his cheek.

 

Let the kid have some fun on his last day, right?

 

Two hours later, Theon comments that Viserys is a filthy liar. He can still move. However, he won't hold it over his head because nobody will ever get to know about this.

 

Viserys cocks his eyebrows. “You mean you don't want anyone to know you take it up the ass like a little bitch?”

 

Killing people, Theon thinks, has never been easier, and he grabs that blasted bedside lamp again.

 

Viserys is probably protected by the Old Gods and the New, though, because the very moment Theon wants to bash in his asshole brains, his phone goes off and Viserys grabs it.

 

What a huge cocksucker.

 

“Give me my phone!!” Theon yells and lunges, but Viserys evades his grasp.

 

“Hello?” he says and Theon moans in pain as he hears his sister's faint voice from the phone.

 

“Give that to me!!!” Theon complains again, but Viserys is a boss at evading him. Where has he learnt that?! Theon has studied close-combat fighting with the best of the best, from the tender age of one year when he had been just old enough to run away from Rodrik and Maron. 

 

“Yes, my lady? You want to know who I am? Well, I'm the guy who just gave it to lil Theon here good,” Viserys says and Theon flails with his arms.

 

“Shut the fuck up, you fucker!!” he screams and jumps and tackles Viserys to the ground. The phone flies from his hand and Theon punches him. With his mouth. On his mouth.

 

“Hello?” Asha asks quietly in the background. Theon opts to ignore her. He can still kill Viserys after this, he thinks as the guy grabs his cock and squeezes. And either way, better talk to Asha when he's finished the job, not before.

 

“I gotta go,” Viserys says another hour later. They're lying on the hotel's carpet. A thousand exotic white-furred critters probably died to make it. The ceiling is really cool, Theon thinks. There's a lot of swirls and curls and colors and yeah, it's possible he's too old to go two times in a day.

“Where you going?” Theon asks and lights himself another cigarette. Viserys, who is, as he has decided, the most entitled little shit on the world, cheekily steals it right out of his hand and takes a long drag.

“It's my sister's wedding today. She's getting married to some drug cartel boss. Pretty cool, huh.”

 

Viserys, Theon thinks, doesn't look like he finds that cool at all.

 

“Uh, congratulations, I suppose,” he says.

 

Viserys snorts. “It's a fucking piece of shit deal, if you wanna hear my opinion. She shouldn't... she's... our parents, they...” He takes a long and hard look at Theon, and Theon feels weirdly exposed. He averts his eyes from that steely indigo gaze.

“But desperate times call for desperate measures.” There's anger in his voice, unmistakable. Theon steals the cig back. Viserys glowers at him.

 

“You need the money, huh?” Theon asks.

 

Viserys cocks his head to the side. “Something like that.”

 

Theon raises an eyebrow. “You need... the drugs?”

 

Viserys snorts again. “Don't ask. If I tell you, I'll have to kill you.”

 

“You couldn't hurt a mayfly,” Theon snaps back. Killing's easy, but it's not for everyone. Definitely not for Viserys. 

 

The cigarette has ended up in Viserys' hand again. He blows the smoke in Theon's face; Theon coughs and blindly slaps at Viserys. The other man laughs, a short, harsh, unfriendly sound.

“I've been living on the streets since I was eight,” he says in a flat voice, as if he's just commenting on the weather. “You do what you must to survive.” He puts out the cigarette on the carpet. Poor little gerbils, Theon thinks dumbly.

“We all got our cry stories,” he just says. “My family hates me and my best friend is fighting a war. You got no idea, man. Don't be a little bitch.”

 

Viserys musters him. “Wanna be my plus one at my sister's wedding?”

 

Theon's phone rings again. Viserys' eyes are awfully blue. Maybe if he goes to this wedding, he can tell his uncle more about whatever it is he wants to have Viserys killed for? That's a sound plan. Go, Theon, you're the best, he thinks.

 

“Sure,” he says. He can still kill him after the wedding. Right? Theon worries on his lower lip.

 

Maybe killing people is easy, but killing Viserys Targaryen isn't so easy after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Who doesn't love these assholes???


End file.
